FIC: That Name
Sep. 13th, 2007 10:35 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
nentari.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mash_slashTitle: That Name
Author: nentari
Pairing: Frank/Margaret, with hints of possible Trapper/Margaret
Rating: 13+, borderlining 15+ for references of naked!Frank, which is not for the faint of stomach *g*
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue. Please.
Author's Notes: I wrote this one ages ago, and had completely forgotten about it. Luckily someone found it and dropped a comment, and while rereading it I thought it would amuse some of you guys. Enjoy!
Summary: There are some things you're just not prepared to hear...
It was a night like many others for Frank and Margaret - their secret knock signaling his arrival to her tent, some dancing, some wine... And then, if they were lucky enough to be left alone by those two jokers Frank had the misfortune to share a tent with, they would lose themselves in each other's arms.
Everything pointed for that night to be a perfect night... that is, until Frank suddenly pulled off from Margaret's arms.
"Frank?"
Margaret sat up, putting her hand on Frank's shoulder.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Frank kept on staring blankly ahead, letting out a weak cry of anguish.
"Frank, you're scaring me."
Another weak cry. Worried sick, Margaret forced him to face her.
"Frank!"
"Huh?" he asked, as if awaken from a trance.
"What's wrong, my darling?"
Frank's eyes widened and he looked at Margaret as if it was the first time he had ever laid his eyes on her.
"Yousaidmcintyresname," he said, almost inaudibly.
"What?"
"You said McIntyre's name. Just now, when I..." He paused, giving her the most miserable look. "You said 'Trapper,' Margaret. You moaned, and you said 'Trapper.'"
Margaret went white, her expression mirroring that of a child caught with her hand on the cookie jar. "No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did!" Frank said with a whiny voice. "You said McIntyre's name. I heard you!" He wrapped his arms around her brusquely. "Oh, Margaret," he continued. "Is it me? Did I displease you in any way?"
"N-n-no," she stuttered. If Frank had been able to see her face right now, he'd see that she was making a strong effort to find an excuse. "You must have imagined it." She smiled, as the answer came to her. "We're just not used to be able to spend a night without those two maniacs disrupting everything. Maybe you were so afraid they'd spoil everything again that you imagined it."
Frank looked at her, a hopeful glow in his eyes. "You think that was it?"
"It must have been," she reassured him. "If I had said something like that I would have been the first one to notice, don't you think?"
He looked into her eyes for a few moments, before breaking down in hysterical giggles. "You're right. It was me imagining things."
He kept on giggling as Margaret stroked his hair, smiling with relief.
"You know," Frank added, as the giggling subdued, "there was something else that must have helped me hear things."
"What?"
"Well," he said sighing, "when we were... you know... my wife used to call me Enrique. I was devastated until she explained that it was her pet name for me."
At Frank's words, Margaret's body stiffened and she let go of his hair.
"Get out, Frank," she said icily.
"What?"
"I told you to get out."
"Margaret, what's wrong?"
"Take your clothes, Enrique, and get out of my tent!"
"But, Marg-"
"OUT!"
And, as if hit by a tornado, Frank found himself being thrown into the icy-cold dirt outside of Margaret's quarters. A few seconds later, his clothes flew out of the door, hitting him on the face.
"Margaret-" he started, trying to get up. As reply, Margaret appeared and threw him his boots, hitting him right in the stomach.
"I hope you freeze!" she growled before slamming the door.
"What did I say?" he asked to himself, as he tried to regain his breath.
It then dawned on him that he was outside, stark naked - and there was no way he'd be able to reach the Swamp in that state without being seen. He knocked on Margaret's door nervously.
"Open the door, please!" he cried. "People will see me like this!"
Margaret's reply came muffled and almost inaudible, but he was able to understand the words "your wife" and "happy."
"Margaret, please!"
His plea was now answered by a succession of words that were anything but ladylike. Finally realizing that remaining there would only result in physical injury, Frank hastily retreated to a dark corner between two neighboring tents, hoping it would be secure enough for him to get dressed without raising attention.
Halfway through this, and finally feeling calmer about his present situation, Frank was startled by a voice.
"Halt!"
Frank's expression changed from panicky to angry as he recognized the figure in lilac that was pointing a gun at him.
"Klinger, you idiot!"
"Major Burns? Is that you?"
"Oh, go to hell!"
"I figured it was you," Klinger said with a smile. "What are you doing in there?"
Frank came into the light, still half-dressed. "Mind your own beeswax!"
"You know, Major," Klinger said, as if it the sight before him was the most natural thing in the world, "I tried to patrol al fresco with this kind of weather, so let me give you a bit of advice - it will give you nothing but a runny nose and frozen unmentionables."
"Shut up, you lunatic!"
And with this Frank stormed off (or rather, skipped off) towards the Swamp, his pants still halfway through his trousers and his bathrobe over his head.
"Yes, sir. And proud of it!" Klinger said after him, as if he had received the greatest compliment. "Remember to tell your friends that!"
Fuming, Frank ignored Klinger and continued to dress himself as he reached the door of the tent. Once inside, he went straight to the still, as he decided he needed a drink after what he had just gone through. At least this time that damned thing would be useful.
As he drank his martini, he looked at his sleeping tentmates. Pierce seemed to have fallen asleep the moment he jumped into his cot, and was dangerously close to falling off it. McIntyre, on the other hand... Frank moved closer to observe better. Yes, it looked like McIntyre was smiling. He was probably having a wonderful dream. Either that, Frank decided, or he was having a good laugh at his expense.
Quietly, Frank refilled his glass, drank a sip, turned... and poured the rest on McIntyre's head.
The resulting yell of surprise made Pierce fall to the floor with a loud thud, with Zale's complaining voice being heard outside shortly after.
"Frank! What the -" Pierce said, still groggy.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Trapper yelled, outraged. "Why the hell did you do that for?"
"Next time you decide to ruin my night," Frank shouted back, "you better do it in person, you... you... rat!"
And with this, he stormed out, leaving the two captains stunned.
"Did I miss something?" Hawkeye asked.
Author: nentari
Pairing: Frank/Margaret, with hints of possible Trapper/Margaret
Rating: 13+, borderlining 15+ for references of naked!Frank, which is not for the faint of stomach *g*
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue. Please.
Author's Notes: I wrote this one ages ago, and had completely forgotten about it. Luckily someone found it and dropped a comment, and while rereading it I thought it would amuse some of you guys. Enjoy!
Summary: There are some things you're just not prepared to hear...
It was a night like many others for Frank and Margaret - their secret knock signaling his arrival to her tent, some dancing, some wine... And then, if they were lucky enough to be left alone by those two jokers Frank had the misfortune to share a tent with, they would lose themselves in each other's arms.
Everything pointed for that night to be a perfect night... that is, until Frank suddenly pulled off from Margaret's arms.
"Frank?"
Margaret sat up, putting her hand on Frank's shoulder.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Frank kept on staring blankly ahead, letting out a weak cry of anguish.
"Frank, you're scaring me."
Another weak cry. Worried sick, Margaret forced him to face her.
"Frank!"
"Huh?" he asked, as if awaken from a trance.
"What's wrong, my darling?"
Frank's eyes widened and he looked at Margaret as if it was the first time he had ever laid his eyes on her.
"Yousaidmcintyresname," he said, almost inaudibly.
"What?"
"You said McIntyre's name. Just now, when I..." He paused, giving her the most miserable look. "You said 'Trapper,' Margaret. You moaned, and you said 'Trapper.'"
Margaret went white, her expression mirroring that of a child caught with her hand on the cookie jar. "No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did!" Frank said with a whiny voice. "You said McIntyre's name. I heard you!" He wrapped his arms around her brusquely. "Oh, Margaret," he continued. "Is it me? Did I displease you in any way?"
"N-n-no," she stuttered. If Frank had been able to see her face right now, he'd see that she was making a strong effort to find an excuse. "You must have imagined it." She smiled, as the answer came to her. "We're just not used to be able to spend a night without those two maniacs disrupting everything. Maybe you were so afraid they'd spoil everything again that you imagined it."
Frank looked at her, a hopeful glow in his eyes. "You think that was it?"
"It must have been," she reassured him. "If I had said something like that I would have been the first one to notice, don't you think?"
He looked into her eyes for a few moments, before breaking down in hysterical giggles. "You're right. It was me imagining things."
He kept on giggling as Margaret stroked his hair, smiling with relief.
"You know," Frank added, as the giggling subdued, "there was something else that must have helped me hear things."
"What?"
"Well," he said sighing, "when we were... you know... my wife used to call me Enrique. I was devastated until she explained that it was her pet name for me."
At Frank's words, Margaret's body stiffened and she let go of his hair.
"Get out, Frank," she said icily.
"What?"
"I told you to get out."
"Margaret, what's wrong?"
"Take your clothes, Enrique, and get out of my tent!"
"But, Marg-"
"OUT!"
And, as if hit by a tornado, Frank found himself being thrown into the icy-cold dirt outside of Margaret's quarters. A few seconds later, his clothes flew out of the door, hitting him on the face.
"Margaret-" he started, trying to get up. As reply, Margaret appeared and threw him his boots, hitting him right in the stomach.
"I hope you freeze!" she growled before slamming the door.
"What did I say?" he asked to himself, as he tried to regain his breath.
It then dawned on him that he was outside, stark naked - and there was no way he'd be able to reach the Swamp in that state without being seen. He knocked on Margaret's door nervously.
"Open the door, please!" he cried. "People will see me like this!"
Margaret's reply came muffled and almost inaudible, but he was able to understand the words "your wife" and "happy."
"Margaret, please!"
His plea was now answered by a succession of words that were anything but ladylike. Finally realizing that remaining there would only result in physical injury, Frank hastily retreated to a dark corner between two neighboring tents, hoping it would be secure enough for him to get dressed without raising attention.
Halfway through this, and finally feeling calmer about his present situation, Frank was startled by a voice.
"Halt!"
Frank's expression changed from panicky to angry as he recognized the figure in lilac that was pointing a gun at him.
"Klinger, you idiot!"
"Major Burns? Is that you?"
"Oh, go to hell!"
"I figured it was you," Klinger said with a smile. "What are you doing in there?"
Frank came into the light, still half-dressed. "Mind your own beeswax!"
"You know, Major," Klinger said, as if it the sight before him was the most natural thing in the world, "I tried to patrol al fresco with this kind of weather, so let me give you a bit of advice - it will give you nothing but a runny nose and frozen unmentionables."
"Shut up, you lunatic!"
And with this Frank stormed off (or rather, skipped off) towards the Swamp, his pants still halfway through his trousers and his bathrobe over his head.
"Yes, sir. And proud of it!" Klinger said after him, as if he had received the greatest compliment. "Remember to tell your friends that!"
Fuming, Frank ignored Klinger and continued to dress himself as he reached the door of the tent. Once inside, he went straight to the still, as he decided he needed a drink after what he had just gone through. At least this time that damned thing would be useful.
As he drank his martini, he looked at his sleeping tentmates. Pierce seemed to have fallen asleep the moment he jumped into his cot, and was dangerously close to falling off it. McIntyre, on the other hand... Frank moved closer to observe better. Yes, it looked like McIntyre was smiling. He was probably having a wonderful dream. Either that, Frank decided, or he was having a good laugh at his expense.
Quietly, Frank refilled his glass, drank a sip, turned... and poured the rest on McIntyre's head.
The resulting yell of surprise made Pierce fall to the floor with a loud thud, with Zale's complaining voice being heard outside shortly after.
"Frank! What the -" Pierce said, still groggy.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Trapper yelled, outraged. "Why the hell did you do that for?"
"Next time you decide to ruin my night," Frank shouted back, "you better do it in person, you... you... rat!"
And with this, he stormed out, leaving the two captains stunned.
"Did I miss something?" Hawkeye asked.
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